


The West Coast Sky (Daring Me To Try)

by skyline



Category: Big Time Rush
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-23
Updated: 2011-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sleep is not boring. Sleep is awesome. Sexy, even. Sleep and I need some private time, alone, right now."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The West Coast Sky (Daring Me To Try)

“Get up, get up, get up.”

“No. Wha? No. G’way.”

“Get. _Up._ ”

“Dude.” Kendall groans and rubs at his eyes, trying to see what his bedside clock says. And that cannot be right. “It’s _four_ in the morning.”

“Yep. Come on, get up!”

“James. No. Give me my blanket back.”

“Can’t do that.”

“James.”

“It’s raining,” James announces, bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet. He is entirely too cheery.

“And four in the morning.”

“I’m aware.”

“Kendall, come _on_.”

“It’s _four_ in the _morning_.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I’m not so good with numbers, but I can read clocks just fine.”

“We have to be in the studio in three hours. What do you have against sleep?”

“Sleep’s boring.”

“Sleep is not boring. Sleep is awesome. _Sexy_ , even. Sleep and I need some private time, alone, right now.”

Kendall tries to grab for his comforter, but James drops it onto the floor in a crumpled heap and says, “We are going to go see the rain.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously. It rains like, three times a year around here. We need to go watch, for posterity.”

“I can see it just fine, out the window. Or I could, if you lift the blinds.”

“See with your hands, not with your eyes!”

“That goes against everything they taught me in preschool.”

“You are coming with me. Right now.”

“James- no, James! I’m in my underwear.”

“So? It’s four in the morning. No one’s going to see.”

He yanks Kendall’s arm so hard that he has no choice but to follow.

Kendall trips over his feet and the comforter and probably the floor, a little bit, because he’s still half asleep. Yawning, he stumbles after James, trusting that his best friend won’t lead him into any doorframes or stray furniture.

That trust is probably misguided, because James is obviously _deranged_. He leads Kendall out of the apartment and into the deserted hallway. Then the elevator. Then the lobby. Where Kendall can see perfectly that there is a raging, thundering, veritable _monsoon_ outside, complete with distant flashes of lightning. And then James is running out into the storm, laughing.

His hair is immediately matted to his forehead, and Kendall thinks that it’s the first time he’s seen James look less than perfect since Minnesota.

James splashes out into the road, and Kendall notices that he’s not really wearing anything but a pair of thin, drawstring sweats. Within seconds, they’re clinging to every inch of him. He is going to catch his death.

There is a very real possibility here that Gustavo will murder them. Their bodies might never be found. Kendall shivers, wrapping his arms around himself and steadfastly refusing to step foot outside of the lobby.

James has other plans. He executes a quick spin, tilting his chin up so that the rain’s pounding hard on his face, his shoulders, and his bare, slick chest.

“Come dance with me,” he calls with a wicked grin, pulling a move that’s part of their new song’s choreography. Kendall has yet to master that one, and James knows it. He shimmies his hips a little for emphasis.

And Kendall knows this, knows that James is basically a creature of the sunlight but still loves a good storm. Back home in Minnesota he’d call Kendall over, and they’d sit on James’s porch, watching the rain come down like they would a TV show, snacks in their lap. They’d holler up at the broken sky, loving the way their voices sounded muted, lost beneath the fury of Mother Nature.

James keeps on dancing, every movement dazzling, sending up a spray of water that sparkles in the faded gold streetlights. He runs a hand down the front of his body, thrusting his hips and-

“Okay, you know what?” Kendall curses and strides right out there. He's wet and he's cold and he pushes James against the wall of the hotel mid-spin. He keeps him pinned there with one hand, a casual palm pressed against his shoulder.

James grins cockily.

“You don’t like the rain?”

“Rain’s great. Love it,” Kendall says, watching James’s lips, water-slick.

“Then what’s the problem?” James asks innocently, and he is such a dick because he knows exactly what the problem is.

Kendall nips at his lips, kissing him so hard that he really hopes James’s mouth bruises. He tongues at James’s jaw, bites the place where his shoulder and neck intersect, liking the noise that James makes and the accompanying movement of his hips. Kendall mouths his way down the front of James’s chest, and it mostly tastes like California rainwater; earthy and a little metallic, but underneath that is James’s weird manspray and sweat.

Kendall shoves James’s sweatpants down around his thighs, and he can hear James make this keening noise; half anticipation, half protest, because they’re right in front of the hotel, where anyone can see them. Kendall grins, because wasn’t James the one who insisted no one would be awake right now?

He likes the heat of James’s dick against his lips, the weight of it in his mouth.

He likes the way that when he works his tongue over the underside, when he sucks against skin and hums a little, James can’t really control himself. His hips begin to fuck up into Kendall’s mouth. His hands start to pull at his soaking wet hair, controlling the rhythm.

Kendall likes being on his knees on the sidewalk in front of the Palmwoods, being owned by James, but mostly owning him until his voice is high and broken.

The rain is dripping rivers into his eyes, nose, and mouth, making it harder to see, to breathe. But when James starts to pant Kendall’s name, urging him to go faster, it’s pretty much worth it. Kendall adds in his hand, a twist of his wrist and more speed to make it better.

Kendall grins wickedly when James comes apart, spilling hot and slick down Kendall’s throat.

When he pulls back, he sees that James is sagging against the wall, soaked through and trembling. Kendall wipes his hand on those stupid sweatpants, still rucked down around James’s thighs. He takes a few steps back until he’s dripping all over the threshold of the lobby.

Then he calls, “No more early morning booty calls, James.”

James stares at him, mouth open, wet and vulnerable and helpless; but mostly guilty looking. And Kendall thinks that yeah. He’ll have good dreams for the rest of the night.


End file.
